One day in about March, 1990, when John was almost three, I dressed all three boys warmly in their snowsuits and sent them outside to play. It had snowed a short time before, so there was lots of snow. Our gravel driveway and the surrounding streets were white, covered with packed snow.

I stayed inside to get some things done, but kept glancing out the window to check that the boys were okay. Our yard was in a little hollow and the boys had always stayed around the swing set --- until that day.

John had the toy lawnmower outside, so he started “mowing” the snow. Lost in his own world, he “mowed” down the snow-covered driveway and turned to go along the edge of the now-white side street on which we lived. Next, he followed the curve of the road that went in front of the corner service station. Finally, he headed up the lonely snow-packed county road that led out of the little town in which we lived

Beyond the service station, there were no houses for a long ways since the road was surrounded by fields. We lived at the edge of the town, and outside of the city limits, the speed limit on the county road was 55 miles per hour.

(photo of John with toy mower taken two years before the story above happened)